


Out of the Woods

by ticklishblaine (lightsandsparks)



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Character Death, Sickness, brief mention of vomiting and blood, medical talk, mystery diagnosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsandsparks/pseuds/ticklishblaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being sick is nothing new to Darren, but getting better had always been fairly simple. However, when Darren falls sicker than he's ever been before, how do he and Chris cope when even some of LA's best doctors can't give him a definite diagnosis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovetheblazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for my lovely Sarah, who adores medical hurt/comfort just as much as I do. Sorry it's a day late! Thanks to luckiedee for the super quick and efficient beta!
> 
> (This is a mystery diagnosis fic, but if you think discussion of the possible disease may be triggering, I put it in the end notes!)

It started out as a flu like any other.

Darren got sick more often than Chris could keep track of. He’d been awful enough in terms of taking care of himself during the time that Glee was on air, but now that it was over he was even worse. He was constantly running around, rushing here to film this and there to perform that. In addition, Darren practically lived on a plane, spending far too many hours on cross-country flights in tight quarters, surrounded by other people who were probably infectious and with an already weak immune system, his chances of staying healthy were incredibly slim.

So when Darren got sick, Chris didn’t think much of it. He’d first noticed the fever in the middle of the night, waking up to Darren sweating and shaking in their bed. Sighing, Chris got some Tylenol and water, shaking Darren awake to take the medicine and running his fingers through Darren’s curls as he drifted back to sleep. Chris was concerned, but not overly so. Darren being sick was a frequent enough occurrence, and he was used to it by now.

Except this time he was really, _really_ sick. And he didn’t seem to be getting any better.

It had been over a week, and Darren was as ill as ever. His fever never broke for more than a few hours at a time, and he was almost completely bedridden, his entire body wracked with an intense ache that made it hard for him to accomplish even simple tasks such as getting up to use the bathroom. Chris had to help Darren anytime he wanted to move around, meaning he constantly had to keep a close eye on him.

Chris liked getting to take care of Darren. He was usually so confident and energetic, and it was almost a welcome change to see him slow down for once. Also, Darren was incredibly cuddly when he wasn’t feeling well and it was endearing to see him so vulnerable, begging for Chris to hold him and whining pathetically when Chris needed to go complete a task somewhere else around the house. Chris hated that Darren was feeling badly, but he’d always enjoyed the time he got to spend with Darren when he was laid-up in bed with a bad cold or flu.

Only this time, Chris didn’t like it one bit. Because Darren wasn’t getting better, and it was starting to scare him.

On the ninth day, Chris insisted they make a doctor’s appointment. Darren refused, vehemently claiming he was starting to feel better already. Chris didn’t believe a word, but the next morning Darren’s fever had indeed broken. A few hours later and his temperature was still ideal, and he even seemed to be regaining some of his strength. Chris was still wary, but over the next few days Darren got better little by little, so Chris canceled the appointment, knowing how much Darren hated going to the doctor and deciding to spare him some of the stress.

The worrying part, however, was the fact that Darren never seemed to return to his previous level of energy.

It was a week after the symptoms had started to pass, and Darren was still lethargic and tired. He was sleeping more frequently than Chris had ever seen before in the entire time he’d known Darren, and when he was awake, his usual inability to sit still for more than five minutes was replaced with slumped shoulders and an almost completely immobile body. He attended fewer parties, booked fewer gigs, and made fewer deals with advertising companies, opting to stay in and sleep more often than not. He still wrote music - Chris sometimes came home to Darren mindlessly strumming his guitar with a notebook in front of him, but even that had taken a nosedive as it seemed like all Darren really wanted to do was lay in bed.

Chris was extremely worried, and he vowed that if this behavior continued for much longer, then he was going to force Darren to make an appointment with a doctor. But any attempt to get Darren to consent to this was met with an “I’m fine,” or “I’m an adult, I don’t need you to nag me, Chris.” The stubbornness was exhausting.

It went on for almost two months before Darren woke up early in the morning with another high fever, and finally Chris had to put his foot down. 

He begrudgingly loaded Darren into the car the next day, having made an emergency appointment for the earliest time slot he could get. Darren appeared to not even have the energy to argue, for which Chris was grateful but simultaneously very concerned.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much the doctor could do, since Darren was simply displaying flu symptoms and the best he could recommend were fluids and rest. He told them that it was simply a recurrent sickness and that Darren would just have to take better care of himself to strengthen his immune system, but that he should be fine in a week or so.

Chris was unconvinced.

Because he knew Darren. He got sick a lot, yes. But he usually bounced right back, his energy coming in full-force and allowing him to tackle the world with an enthusiasm that exhausted even Chris on most days. But Darren hadn’t been that Darren in quite some time, and Chris desperately missed him.

Nevertheless, Darren’s fever eventually did disappear, but the achy joints and muscles remained. Chris was wondering if maybe they should find him a specialist, like a Rheumatologist of some sort, but Darren just waved him off, insisting that as long as he took his Tylenol every morning he’d be able to make it through the day just fine. 

“I’m okay Chris - really, I swear.” It was a mantra he'd heard too many times in the past few days, and Chris was getting sick of it. Additionally, walking in from a meeting with Alla to the sight of Darren laid up on the couch, in the exact same spot he'd been in for the past two days - well, quite frankly it broke Chris' heart. 

Shaking his head, Chris sat down next to Darren on the couch, feeling his forehead and cheeks for any sign of fever. There were none, but Darren looked just as sick and exhausted as ever, his eyes listless and lacking their usual spark. It killed Chris, causing tears to form as he watched Darren barely react to his presence, eyes slipping closed after a few moments of gazing up at Chris.

That was all it took. Already having had a bad day, Chris just couldn't take it anymore. He burst into uncontrollable tears, the sight of his boyfriend so obviously sick and the knowledge that there was nothing he could to help suddenly overwhelming him. "Please, Darren," Chris begged through his sobbing. "You need to see someone. W-we need to get you to a doctor who can h-help you."

It took a beat too long for Darren to realize Chris was crying, but as he peeled his eyes open his expression immediately changed from neutral and disinterested to horrified. “Chris? What’s wrong, baby?”

Chris tried to get a hold of himself, but it was no easy task as the weight of his concern that had built over the past few months finally pressed down upon him. He’d been bottling it up for so long, and now it was all spilling out - unfortunately right in front of Darren, who was the last person Chris had wanted to worry. 

Still. Maybe this was the wake up call Darren needed, since he clearly wasn’t paying attention to his own body’s needs as usual. “I’m crying because you’re really sick. You’ve been really sick for a long time and you need help. And if you’re not going to get it yourself, then I’m going to force you to.”

Darren took a moment to look confused, but slowly, painfully sat up on the couch and wrapped his arms around Chris, cuddling him close. Chris’ heart broke even further to see how much effort even this simple action took. “What did you have in mind?” he asked after a moment.

Chris sniffled, his tears finally slowing. He hugged Darren back, nuzzling into his chest and listening to the sound of his reassuring heartbeat before he answered. “I’m going to make you an appointment with a Rheumatologist, okay? The best one I can find.”

Chris felt Darren immediately stiffen, but thankfully he did not argue. “Okay,” he answered instead.

“Good,” Chris sighed, relief flooding his body. “I just… I don’t know what else to do. You must be developing some kind of arthritis for you to be in this much pain all the time.” He paused. “Does it run in your family?”

Darren took a moment to consider. “Not that I know of. I could ask around, though?”

“Good idea. I want you to call your mom and brother later and tell them what’s going on, too. We need to keep them in the loop if there really is something going on. Arthritis is no joke, Darren.”

“Believe me, I know,” Darren sighed, and Chris’ heart clenched, the tone of Darren’s voice reminding him that Darren was sick, suffering, and in pain.

“Is there anything I can do?” Chris asked hopefully, having a feeling he knew the answer.

“...Just, hold me?” Bingo.

“Of course,” Chris reassured, hugging around Darren’s waist even tighter. “But then I’m making you some tea and a healthy dinner, okay?”

“Whatever you say. But first. Cuddles.”

“Yes. First, cuddles.”

\--

Chris kept his word, and after extensive research, he made Darren an appointment with the best Rheumatologist he could find in the area. Darren was just as nervous as expected, gripping Chris’ hand and shaking slightly in the cold waiting room. He was barely responding to Chris’s reassurances, his soft whispers of “it’s okay, I’m here,” and “I’m not going to let anything bad happen,” hardly making any dents in Darren’s demeanor. Chris knew he just wouldn’t feel any better until they left the office, no matter what.

The exam the doctor performed was pretty routine - he examined the way Darren flexed his joints and confirmed that they did indeed seem swollen. He ordered a blood test and x-rays, which of course, Darren was unhappy about. However, he wound up enduring the tests better than Chris had expected, and his eyes were only just a little bit teary after getting his blood drawn. 

A few weeks later, Darren’s doctor confirmed that he did indeed have arthritis and prescribed a medication that he promised was often very effective. Unfortunately, he explained, arthritis was an autoimmune disease, so it was incurable, but luckily patients responded well to treatment in most cases.

The news was not wholly unexpected, but it still upset Darren pretty significantly and caused him to wonder: wasn’t artritis something he should have only had to worry about when he got older? He wasn’t even 30 and yet here he was, being diagnosed with a disease that he thought was exclusive to people who were middle-aged. What would happen when he got even older than he was now? Surely it would only get worse from here. If there wasn’t a cure, then what was going to happen to him when he turned 50? 60? Would he still even be able to walk at that point?

He knew he should be communicating these worries to Chris. Talking was something they’d always been good at - Darren, at least for his part, liked to think he was good at explaining his feelings and being able to share them with Chris in a way that was constructive for their relationship. Chris sometimes needed a little more prodding, but they had developed a system that worked well for them throughout the course of their three-year relationship and it was something Darren was proud of.

This, however… this situation felt different, somehow. After watching Chris break down that day a few weeks ago, Darren had realized how much his poor health was upsetting him. Making Chris worry about his future even more so than he’d already done seemed mean, especially since he appeared to be contented with the idea that Darren now had a diagnosis and treatment plan. Chris seemed calmer and less anxious than he had been in months.

So, against his better judgement, Darren kept his mouth shut. For Chris’s sake.

The next few days went well; Darren taking his medicine and Chris doting on him just as much as he’d always done. Chris’s spirits had lifted significantly, which in turned lifted Darren’s, and the two of them enjoyed a three-day bout of their previous level of domestic bliss.

Until Darren woke up four days later feeling sicker than he had in a very, very long time.

\--

Chris was panicked. Darren’s fever had spiked to 102 degrees overnight, even after he’d gone to bed feeling mostly fine. Chris had mentioned Darren’s recurrent flu symptoms to Darren’s Rheumatologist, who had reassured him that the two illnesses were not related, and had basically repeated Darren’s primary doctor’s speech of having a weak immune system and needing to rest more.

But Chris was starting to seriously doubt these words. Yes, the two men were both doctors and had advanced medical agrees. But Chris knew Darren. These symptoms had all appeared at the same time, and had stolen away the ever-present spark that Darren had always seemed to carry around with him. Darren was very sick, and Chris knew there had to be something else. Something _more_ going on.

It was difficult however, to convince anyone else of his theory. He called Darren’s primary doctor the next morning, waiting hours for a call back as Darren did nothing but get sicker by what seemed like the minute. Not only was his fever refusing to break, but he was now also vomiting, unable to keep anything more than water down. When he finally did speak with Darren’s doctor, he was reassured that Darren would be fine and would probably stop experiencing these illness bouts after flu season. 

Chris ended the call more frustrated than ever, furious that nobody was taking him seriously. 

The problem however, was that there just wasn’t anything tangible that he could do. Chris wasn’t a doctor; he hardly had any medical knowledge at all, and even extensive google research had left him with very few results.

By the end of the day, Darren was sicker than ever and Chris was seriously contemplating forcing a trip to the ER.

“Babe?” He called softly, slowly opening the door to their dark room. 

“Hm?” Darren answered, apparently awake for once.

“I’m turning on the light, close your eyes,” Chris told him as he flipped on their bedside lamp, giving Darren a moment to adjust before he spoke to him again. “How are you feeling?” he asked, stomach twisting with concern as he took in Darren’s pallor and sweaty forehead.

“Ehh,” Darren groaned, rubbing his eyes a bit before looking up at Chris with a pleading expression that made Chris want to cry. “ _There’s nothing I can do baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry_ ,” his mind supplied.

“Do you want to try eating something again? You haven’t kept anything down besides water all day.”

Darren shook his head, closing his eyes and snuggling down further into the covers. 

“Please Darren?” Chris begged, laying his hand on top of his shoulder over the covers. “For me?”

Chris knew he’d played the right card, because Darren immediately came out of hiding. “Okay,” he answered in a small voice.

Half an hour later Chris was holding up a trashcan to Darren’s face, rubbing his back as he lost the soup, water, and Tylenol Chris had tried to feed him.

Darren soon plopped back onto the bed, looking exhausted. 

Chris tenderly wiped his mouth with a napkin before pressing a cool rag to his forehead. “Poor thing,” Chris cooed. “I’m afraid we might have to make a hospital trip if you’re not eating by tomorrow, honey.”

Chris knew Darren must have been feeling as bad as ever, because he didn’t even protest the notion, simply looking up at Chris and whimpering pathetically.

“I know, Dare,” Chris whispered as he climbed into bed, wrapping his body around Darren protectively. 

They stayed that way for a long time, Darren panting as he lay awake, his fever climbing. He seemed to be getting worse by the minute, and Chris wasn’t sure he was making the right decision in putting the hospital off until tomorrow. He’d just have to keep a close eye on Darren for the next few hours.

And he did, but must have fallen asleep at some point because he was suddenly startled awake by something hitting him in the face. He shot up, immediately turning his attention to Darren, who was wriggling and whimpering in his sleep. His cheeks were bright red, his brow furrowed, and he was actually _dripping_ with sweat.

“Fuck,” Chris cursed under his breath, trying to shake Darren awake from whatever nightmare he was experiencing. It was no easy task, however; Darren was apparently in deeper sleep than Chris had realized, and his lack of response to Chris calling out his name and shaking him vigorously was really starting to scare him. Anxiety twisted in his gut, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to pull Darren back to consciousness.

Eventually, Darren did wake up, his eyes wide and breathing heavy. He almost shot up in bed, but Chris held him down gently. “Shh, Dare. It’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Darren looked up at Chris, looking just as terrified as he had been when he woke up. “Huh?” 

Chris gulped, a bad feeling starting to overwhelm him. “It’s me, Darren. You were having a nightmare.”

Darren looked just as confused and scared as ever, shaking his head before asking in a small, shaky voice, “Where am I?”

“Shit.” There was something really, really wrong with Darren. This was not the flu, this was something much more serious. It had to be. “You’re at home Darren, in bed?”

When Darren just shook his head, covering his eyes with his palms and before starting to whimper, Chris knew he only had one choice. “We need to go to the hospital now, Darren,” Chris told him, his heart racing as he felt Darren’s forehead, which was burning hot as ever. Beginning to feel scared, he quickly jumped out of bed and started to get dressed.

“Chris!” Darren cried from the bed. “Come back, don’t leave me!”

Chris heart broke in half, but he hurried back to the bed obediently. “I’m not leaving you sweetheart, I’m just getting dressed. We need to take a little car ride so you can feel better, is that okay?”

Darren didn’t respond; just looked up at Chris with sad, glossy, half-lidded eyes. He looked so much unlike himself, so un-Darren like that it terrified him. Something was really, really wrong. “It’s okay honey, you’re going to be okay.”

It took some struggling and maneuvering to get a weak, confused, and delirious Darren into the car, but soon enough they were on the road, Chris trying to keep them both safe while definitely breaking the speed limit once or twice or three times.

A few hours later, Darren was sleeping on a bed in the hospital after having been admitted, completely exhausted. He’d been through a number of tests - a CT scan and even a lumbar puncture to test for meningitis, which had been painful and ended in tears for both Darren and Chris. Chris, because he was an empathetic crier whenever it was Darren doing the crying, and Darren because the test had been painful, involving a needle going into his spine to draw fluid out and test for the virus in question. They were now in their own room however, and Darren was resting marginally comfortably as they waited for results, hoping that the team of doctors and nurses would finally be giving them an answer as to just what was going on.

Despite the growing anxiety in his gut, Chris trusted the doctors to take care of Darren and help him get better. Besides, Chris was pretty sure that this particular episode had been enough to cause the doctors to finally take them seriously, and Chris had the utmost confidence that they would be leaving the hospital with a definite diagnosis and plan for getting Darren back to his full health.

Sighing, he grabbed Darren’s hand that was laying limp on the bed and stroked it gently. “Help is on the way, Dare. Just hang in there.”

It was early the next morning before the doctor on call finally got back to them with the test results. Or rather… lack thereof. 

Apparently, the CT and lumbar puncture had both turned up with inconclusive findings, and the doctors and nurses were still unable to determine the exact cause of Darren’s sickness, blaming his confusion from last night on the high fever. 

The news was, of course, extremely frustrating for both Chris and Darren. Particularly Darren, who burst into tears as soon as the doctor left their room.

“Darren?” Chris asked, alarmed. He was pulled out of his own deep train of thought at the sound of the first sob that left his mouth. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asked, knowing it was a dumb question.

Darren gulped, taking a second to compose himself before speaking. “I’m just s-so fucking sick of this, Chris.” He took a steadying breath, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “I just want to know what it is... What’s w-wrong with me so we can fix it and I can stop feeling so bad.”

Chris nodded, getting up from his chair and sitting on Darren’s hospital bed. “I know, I know,” he soothed, pulling Darren close to his chest. Darren continued to cry, the pressure and the disappointment and the _fear_ that he’d been feeling over the past few months finally spilling out from where he’d been keeping it bottled up inside. In some ways, Chris was relieved; Darren was often someone who tried to hide his negative feelings in favor of staying positive, constantly wanting everyone else around him to be happy. However, Chris often had to remind him that although his infinite enthusiasm often did its job at being uplifting, it wasn’t healthy for Darren to keep his own feelings hidden. If he was sad, then that was completely valid and he was certainly allowed to show it. And although Darren seemed to understand this concept and agree with it, he still rarely if ever showed his true feelings when they became this extreme. Chris was just glad he was finally letting them out.

“It’s okay Dare, it’s okay,” Chris cooed, but Darren showed no signs of letting up as he continued to cry, making the cotton of Chris’s shirt wetter by the minute. Chris didn’t mind of course. He slipped off his shoes and maneuvered himself carefully around the IV and pulse monitor attached to Darren before snuggling under the covers and laying down so Darren could curl into him, which he did as soon as it was physically possible. He cried and cried, laying there on Chris’ chest before eventually tiring himself out, falling asleep after over almost 20 full minutes of tears. Chris was at least thankful he was attached to an IV that was administering fluids.

The next few hours were rough, but eventually Darren did show signs of improvement. His fever gradually went down before disappearing altogether, and a bit of his strength began to return. Although he still felt sore, his nurse was able to get him out of bed and moving around by himself, and the next morning the doctor signed off on his discharge with orders to take it easy and to follow up with his primary care doctor if things didn’t start to improve.

Surprisingly however, Darren did begin to feel better.

It took weeks, but gradually the Darren that Chris remembered from before his symptoms had appeared started to come back. He began perking up, his bubbly personality and energy returning almost completely. He was up early most morning, singing in the kitchen and cooking them breakfast just like he used to and stayed up late most nights, writing lyrics and messing around with his guitar well past 3am. 

Darren even began working again, going to promotional events and even booking a voiceover guest spot for a popular anime on Cartoon Network. And when he came home, he was just as happy and goofy as ever.

When asked about his improvement, Darren thanked the new arthritis medicine that his doctor had prescribed him. Initially, neither Chris nor Darren had any hope in this particular medicine making any kind of difference, but apparently something had gone right, because in just a few short weeks, Darren was almost completely back to his normal self.

Eventually, they fell back into their old routines. Darren went back to working on his album and flying back and forth between New York and Los Angeles to attend events, while Chris went back to writing. Chris noticed with no small amount of relief that Darren’s symptoms had almost completely disappeared. Despite the occasional bout of joint discomfort or lazy day where he was just a bit more fatigued than normal, Darren seemed to be back in good health and Chris found himself slowly forgetting about the fear that there was something seriously wrong with him.

That is, until the night that changed everything.

It had been a perfectly typical Saturday night. They were both in Los Angeles and Darren was going to some small-scale award show being hosted downtown. He’d been complaining about feeling a bit off for the past few days, and at least Chris could say he’d desperately tried to get him to stay in.

“Come on babe, please? I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re not feeling well,” Chris whimpered, trying to give his best pout as he sat cross-legged on their bed, Brian glaring at Darren from Chris’s lap. “Brian doesn’t want you to go either, can’t you tell?” he asked, holding the cat up to Darren’s eye level.

“Chris, Brian has a permanent resting bitch face. He couldn’t give less of a shit about whether I live or die.”

Darren had meant it as a joke, but Chris didn’t find it funny at all given the past few month’s events. “Don’t talk like that Darren,” Chris commanded firmly, his playful expression dropping to one of angry sternness.

Darren’s head snapped up at the change in tone. “Shit, sorry,” he apologized after a careful review of what he’d just said. He straightened his tie before leaning on the bed to give Chris a deep and sloppy kiss that probably would have turned into something more if he weren’t on his way out the door. “I won’t be out for long, I promise. A few hours at the most, okay?”

Chris puffed out a sigh, trying to tamp down on the foreboding feeling in his stomach. “Fine,” he finally relented before fixing Darren with a teasing smirk. “Smile pretty for the camera for me, okay?”

“I always do,” Darren laughed as he entered the bathroom to mess with his hair one last time.

A few hours later, Chris was knee-deep in a binge of Breaking Bad when he got the call.

It was his publicist. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetie… so. I have some… bad news.”

Chris’s heart fucking dropped. “W-what?”

“It’s Darren.”

Chris had to physically force himself not to throw up, pass out, or all of the above. He knew Darren shouldn’t have gone out, he shouldn’t have pushed himself, he fucking knew it.

When Alla didn’t elaborate, it only confirmed Chris’s worst fear - this was bad. Very bad.

“Please tell me h-he, that’s he’s-” Chris couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. 

“He’s okay! I mean, at least I think so?” she rushed to explain. “I got a call from his manager a few minutes ago. He was rushed to the emergency room at UCLA after he passed out at an after party. He’d been… complaining of chest pains.”

Chris was pretty sure he was having the same problem at the moment, because he couldn’t fucking _breathe_.

He quickly gathered a few of his things and was out the door in seconds, declining Alla’s attempts to let her come pick him up. He needed to get to the hospital as soon as humanly possible and there was absolutely nothing and no one that was going to delay his arrival. 

He sped down the highway, Darren the absolutely only thing on his mind. He didn’t even give a second glance to the press and paparazzi outside of the hospital as he rushed through the emergency room doors. He and Darren had been easing up on the privacy of their relationship within the past year, and had even had plans on officially coming out before Darren’s health had taken a nosedive. Most of the public and press pretty much knew what was going on between them by now, so Chris couldn’t even bring himself to feel an ounce of concern that pictures of him entering the hospital would be posted all over social media within the next few minutes. All he could care about was Darren.

Chris was escorted back as soon as gave his name to the receptionist. He was Darren’s emergency contact and it wasn’t a secret that he was, quite frankly, a celebrity. He figured she’d recognized him, or had at least been expecting his arrival. She took him to the ER department where a nurse promptly met him and began explaining the situation to Chris as she led him to Darren.

He was currently being treated in the ICU. Despite complaints of chest pain, there was no evidence of heart attack but the doctors were unsure of what had caused Darren to pass out. He was currently unconscious with no signs of waking up, and his vital signs were distressingly poor. Darren’s diagnosis was still a mystery, and it was all a matter of conducting extensive diagnostic testing and playing the waiting game at this point.

Chris sat by Darren’s hospital bed, doing all he could not to completely lose his mind.

Hours passed - doctors and nurses came and went, taking Darren here and there for this test and that. He’d had more bloodwork done that night than Chris thought he’d ever had in his own life. Scans, x-rays, lab tests; it seemed that they were trying pretty much everything. But when the next morning came and Chris still couldn’t get an answer out of a single hospital worker, he started to panic in earnest.

All of this on top of the fact that Darren still hadn’t woken up yet, and that his vital signs still hadn’t improved… it caused Chris to excuse himself to the bathroom where he promptly had a breakdown. 

He sobbed for a long time, crying frustrated tears of anger and fear. Fear that this was it, that Darren wasn’t going to get better… and fear that he was going to have to say goodbye.

Cell phones weren’t allowed in the ICU, so when he finally felt that he could cry no more, he called his parents. He starting sobbing all over again to his mother, and bless her heart, she did the best she could to soothe him. 

Speaking of parents, he noticed a text from Darren’s mother and brother after he hung up with his own mom that said they were currently on their way to the hospital and would be there as soon as possible. He was thankful. Chris needed someone to share this burden with and he needed them now, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be the only one feeling more than a little distressed given the situation.

Chris’s theory had been correct. As soon as Darren’s parents made their way to his room in the ICU, they were clearly hysterical. Particularly Darren’s mother, which was unsurprising given the close relationship they’d always shared. Bill had to physically hold her up as she broke down at the sight of Darren, spouting out various clipped phrases in Bisaya. Chris didn’t speak much of the language, or any of it at all, really. But just from being with Darren and knowing his family for so long, Chris recognized the words “son” and “no.” It broke Chris’s heart in half, even more so than it already was. He decided now was a good time to give the family some privacy.

Chris made his way to the hospital’s cafeteria, feeling completely numb. Logically, he knew he had to eat, but the thought of trying to stomach any food at the moment made him sick. Alternatively, he got some water and found himself staring into it for an hour by the time he checked his phone again. 

When he felt it appropriate to go back to Darren’s room (the intense need to be with him too strong to fight any longer) he was pleased to see that Chuck was there with his wife, Lucy as well. For his part, Chuck looked numb with shock as well; his face barely twisting into a smile as he greeted Chris.

The waiting was the worst part. Staring at a pale and almost completely lifeless Darren for hours on end, with no signs of his condition improving (or worsening, Chris had to remind himself) was starting to get to Chris. There hadn’t been any news; no updates on Darren’s condition, or whether or not the doctors were getting closer to a solid diagnosis. The only thing he could do was stare at the heart monitor as it continued to beep - the sound reassuring as it reminded Chirs that Darren was still alive, that he was still fighting.

But the unnerving fear that this could change in a heartbeat remained with Chris, no matter how much he tried to comfort himself. Darren was in the ICU for a reason - his respirations and heart rate were alarmingly low, and the fact that Darren’s condition could take a turn for the worse at any minute was a feature in the forefront of his mind.

Chris didn’t know what time of day it was when the doctor finally came to speak with them. Every minute since he’d entered that ICU had been spent focusing on Darren. He barely even made conversation with Bill, Cerina, Chuck, or Lucy, despite the fact that they had always gotten along well and were incredibly easy to talk to. No. Every inch of his brain was focused on Darren, on trying to communicate to him in some way that Chris was there, that he needed to pull through, that he needed to be okay.

So when the doctor greeted them at the entryway of the room, it startled him. Chris didn’t like the look in his eye. It was too somber, too sympathetic. 

The doctor explained that despite extensive testing, they were still unable to come up with a conclusive diagnosis for Darren’s illness. Although they were still waiting for a few results to come back, he explained that the next few hours were crucial. Darren’s vitals were alarmingly low, and they could either improve or take a turn for the worse at any moment. The best case scenario would be that Darren woke up, and after that, with hope, his vitals would return to normal. Translated simply? They had to wait.

\--

“Oh honey,” Chris whispered to Darren, wondering if his boyfriend could hear him. It was several hours later, and Darren’s family had finally peeled themselves from the room to get something to eat. Blessedly alone with Darren, if only for a few moments, Chris took his opportunity to try to communicate with him. He’d always heard that even unconscious people were aware of the voices around them; could hear and understand their family and friends when they spoke. Chris figured it was worth a shot.

“You need to get better for us, okay Darren?” Chris murmured, grasping Darren’s hand tightly and willing his words to penetrate whatever barrier was separating them. “You need to wake up.”

Chris thought back to the past few months. How sick Darren had been. How much pain he’d had to endure. He was hit with a sudden, terrifying thought - had it all been leading up to this moment? Had Darren’s body been slowly shutting down, and this current bout was the culmination of everything he’d been fighting? Chris felt like he couldn’t breath at the realization that this could be it, that at any minute, Darren could be gone forever and he’d never be able to see his eyes or hear his voice again.

A fresh wave of tears sprang to Chris eyes, and he hid his face on Darren’s bed as best he could from the angle he was sitting as he felt the beginnings of another breakdown coming on. “Oh god, Dare,” he choked. “Please, please don’t die. I _need_ you, Darren. _Please, don’t leave me_.”

He cried for a while longer, sputtering and choking and trying to keep himself from getting hysterical in clear view of the ICU nurses. He was sure they’d be used to this sort of thing and he figured on any other day he’d feel a little awkward crying the way he currently was in public. But at the moment? He simply did not care about anything other than his Darren.

“You can do this, Darren,” he whispered sadly, snuggling against his cool, lifeless hand. “You’ll be okay. You have to be.” Chris felt like the was holding his breath. The fact that he knew Darren could literally die at any moment was so incredibly surreal and he almost didn’t know how to comprehend it. All he could do was hold on tight and hope, hope, hope.

\--

When Chris woke up, he swore he was still dreaming.

Darren was _awake_.

Just barely. But Chris could tell his eyes were peeled and they were both trained on Chris. 

Chris jumped up, quickly waking Darren’s parents and brother who’d been sleeping on the other side of the room. They called Darren’s nurse who quickly came in and took his vitals. After a few tense moments, she confirmed what they’d all been praying for; Darren’s condition was improving.

Darren didn’t speak for quite awhile, but over the next few hours he was able to mumble a few clipped phrases here and there. They sat him up in bed and he even sipped on some water. He gradually became more aware and alert, although it was still obvious he was very, very sick.

However, the next time the doctor entered that ICU room, he came baring the best news Chris had heard in months.

“Darren responded to an antibiotic that’s used to treat Lyme disease, so we have a pretty good hunch that this is what we’re dealing with here,” he explained. “Lyme disease is extremely hard to diagnose because it mimics so many other diseases and its symptoms are mainly indicative of the flu virus, which would explain why Darren went so many months without an answer.”

Chris almost exploded at the doctor. Lyme disease was a fairly well known disease as far as he was concerned. Why hadn’t they tested for it sooner? Why had Darren suffered for months when the treatment had been as simple as an antibiotic? Chris berated himself for not having done more research. Surely he could have found this answer online and insisted that they test Darren for it? In fact, now that Chris thought about it, they’d been camping in upstate New York just _weeks_ before Darren had fallen ill, which was probably where Darren had gotten exposed to the tick that carried the virus in the first place. Neither of them had disclosed this to any of the doctors that had seen Darren. Chris felt angry tears spring to his eyes, no longer angry at the doctor, but furious with himself.

Chris was marginally aware of the doctor as he continued to explain his treatment plan. They were going to test Darren for the disease in question, and if he continued to improve, he’d be removed from the ICU. If Darren tested positive for Lyme disease, the antibiotics would do their job in a matter of days, and with luck, Darren would be released within the week.

The next few hours went by in a blur. Darren did in fact test positive for Lyme disease, and the antibiotics did in fact continue to work, something that was very obvious as Chris could see Darren returning to himself more and more. The pink was back in his cheeks, the sparkle back in his eyes - he’d even returned to talking in full sentences, attempting to crack a few jokes here and there. Darren’s turnaround was so steady that he was discharged from the ICU by the next night, resting comfortably in a room in the inpatient area of the hospital.

With a much more relieved and calm family having gone off to get some food in the cafeteria, Chris was alone with Darren - his Darren, for the first time in what felt like forever.

“You have no idea how fucking scared I was, Darren,” Chris scolded lightly, half laying on Darren’s bed as he stroked a hand across his forehead, sweeping messy curls away from his face. “Please never do that to me again.”

“I’ll try not to?” Darren answered, a small smile on his lips. He was still very weak, and Chris had a hunch that that wouldn’t be changing for quite some time. But the important part was that Darren was improving - it was obvious in every movement of his body, every word that left his mouth. He was no longer getting sicker and that’s what mattered. “No promises, though.”

Chris sighed, kissing the top of Darren’s forehead affectionately. “So, Lyme disease, huh?”

“Yeah, who’d have thought? Guess next time we should rent a beach house instead of a cabin for a week. That was a pretty dumb idea.”

“Eh, maybe next time we can just not leave to go hiking? I gotta say, I can’t really bring myself to regret the time we spent _inside_ of the cabin,” Chris teased lightly, waggling his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Christopher!” Darren squeaked, pretending to sound scandalized. “My parents are here!”

“Not at the moment they’re not,” Chris cooed, leaning down once again to kiss Darren deeply. His eyes shot open when Darren slipped him some tongue without warning.

“Uh-uh,” Chris scolded sternly, pulling out of the kiss. “None of that until you’re out of the hospital, okay?”

Darren groaned. “I miss sex,” he whined.

Chris rolled his eyes, unable to feel even the slightest bit exasperated. It had only been a day, and Darren was acting more like _Darren_ than he had in weeks. Maybe months. The realization brought tears to eyes yet again and Chris quickly realized he was crying for what felt like the millionth time in the past 72 hours. 

“Damn Chris. I mean, I miss blowjobs just as much as you do, but you don’t have to cry over them.”

Chris shook his head, tears dripping down his face and falling onto Darren’s hospital sheet. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Well, it’s good to be back,” Darren smiled sweetly.

Things weren’t perfect. Darren still had a long way to go until he was completely healthy again, and a lot of recovery until he’d fully regained all of his strength. But for now? He was out of the woods. And that was more than Chris could have ever asked for.

**Author's Note:**

> The disease is: Lyme disease.


End file.
